


Witcher's Heat: Coën

by phai6688



Series: Witcher's Heat [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Black Coën, Blood Drinking, Bonding, Bottom!Coën, Consensual Sex, Families of Choice, Half-Vampires, Inspired by The Witcher, Interracial Relationship, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Rimming, Rough Sex, Size Kink, The Witcher Lore, Vampires, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), vampire bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25657729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phai6688/pseuds/phai6688
Summary: Can be Read as a Standalone!Coën knows that he would never find his Consort, like Geralt did with Jaskier. Something is wrong with him. When he gets his heats, he aches to be taken and he's never heard of another Witcher like him.By chance, he saves Harlan and his foster daughter, and against his better judgment, spends the night with the creature. The elegant and sophisticated Harlan is everything Coën secretly desires for himself, but a Witcher and a monster can't be together, right?
Relationships: Coën (The Witcher)/Original Male Character, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Lambert/Original female Character
Series: Witcher's Heat [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831165
Comments: 71
Kudos: 295





	1. One-Night Stand

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very special story to me. Because Coën is a minor character in the Witcher universe and Harlan is a character of my creation, this story teeters on the line between fanfiction and original fiction. I hope this doesn't stop anyone from giving this a shot!
> 
> Harlan, Colette, and Dhampirs belong to me! All mine! *maniacal laugher* Dhampirs do not exist in the Witcher universe. Everything else belongs to the Witcher world, which I do not own.
> 
> If you haven't read Witcher's Heat... (I recommend you read it if you want to know more!)  
> Every 10 years, a Witcher undergoes a heat. For centuries, Witchers thought it was a torturous side effect of the mutagens. Witchers could share their heats with others to make the process more bearable, but it is rare and requires trust between the partners. Geralt successfully shared his heat with Jaskier in that story.

  
**3 Years Before Witcher's Heat/Witcher's Bond**

  
Spring

Harlan hated that he needed to reveal his true form to the human miscreants surrounding him. He’d been traveling with his usual entourage, which included his manservant and driver, and now both were dead because of this gang of thieves. He tried not to let the stench of fresh blood distract him because he still had Colette, his human ward, to protect. 

She had no idea who her beloved protector really was, but she would soon find out. He stopped pretending to be pinned underneath the weight of his carriage and flung it off him. The noise didn’t deter the four fiends from stalking closer to the trembling, frightened adolescent. Colette closed her eyes and turned her face away. Good, maybe he could do this quickly, and she wouldn’t know how much of a monster her father truly was. 

He readied himself to shift into his other form and felt his nails sharpen and descend when the shadow of a sword sliced through the air. The bodies of the four criminals fell to the ground. The moonlight broke through the thick tops of the trees and shone on the stranger.

He was tall, muscular with a black beard covering the lower half of his face. With the bright gleam of his sword, the solemn look on his face, and the almost heavenly light from the skies haloing him, Harlan thought he looked like the archangel, Michael, who his mother had always prayed to. Harlan had dutifully prayed to Michael, too, until he found out what he was. 

Then, the Griffin shaped medallion blinked in the moonlight. Harlan felt his sexual arousal cut short. Shit, he was a Witcher!

He decided to act as shaken as possible and cried, “Colette! My God, I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Papa!” She ran into his arms.

He turned to the stranger. Those sharp golden gaze bore into him. “Thank you so much, Witcher. You saved our lives. How can I ever repay you?” 

The Witcher narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need payment,” his voice was a smooth as the fifty year old bottle of wine he'd opened yesterday to celebrate Colette’s engagement.

“How about dinner? You look like you could use a good meal,” Harlan ran his eyes over the Witcher’s trim build as he patted Colette on the back absentmindedly. Cognizant that his adopted daughter was within earshot, Harlan tried to insert a hint of suggestiveness in his voice, "I think you'll enjoy it." It must have worked because the Witcher’s dark eyebrows shot up.

The Witcher examined him critically before nodding.

“Excellent. I think I still have one good horse. My name is Harlan Graf Mayer. Follow me.”

He nodded again and turned to leave. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Coën,” was the reply as the man disappeared into the tree line. 

Harlan and Colette made it back to the hotel. He gave the staff very strict orders on how to treat his Witcher guest and put a still upset Colette to bed.

“Papa,” she whispered to him before he left the room.

“Hmm?” He turned around.

“Be careful with that Witcher.” She turned her back on his surprised expression. 

Downstairs, he and Coën shared a meal together in an alcove that afforded them some privacy. Despite all his strict instructions, he couldn’t stop the staff from giving his guest disgusted and fearful looks. He wasn’t sure what caused it- the medallion that signaled his Witcher status, the strange amber eyes, or the dark skin tone that was rare in this part of the Kovir. Perhaps, a mixture of all three.

“How do you like the mutton?” Harlan asked.

“It’s the best meat I’ve ever had,” Coën said with a blank expression on his handsome face. He ate agonizingly slow as if struggling to control himself. That wouldn’t do.

“You’re not acting like it. Dig in, Coën,” he gestured to the half full plate. Coën bit his full bottom lip, making Harlan want to reach over and bite it for him.

Coën put down his knife and fork and dug into his food with relish. Harlan also put down his utensils and stared at the Witcher eat. He ate very neatly, despite using his hands to tear some of the food into smaller pieces. 

Harlan ordered another plate, and the Witcher tore into it as well. He also devoured the third one but slowed down on the fourth.

“Gods, what a meal!” Coën finally said with a smile. 

Harlan poured two full glasses of wine and watched the man sip the smooth drink. It’s been a long time since he’s seen someone enjoy something as simple as a meal with such gusto and energy. Ever since Harlan entered his thirties, his human appetite slowed down until everything, but alcohol, tasted like dust in his mouth. He used to love mutton when he was Colette’s age. And Colette, bless her, was always worried about her figure, so she didn’t fully enjoy her meals either. He hadn’t realized that he missed it so much.

“What brings a Witcher to this part of Kovir? I thought you all died in the raids?” Harlan feasted on some of the mages who had boasted about the massacre. He liked to think of it as irony because the mages made it easier for him to hunt without Witchers around, and he’d chosen to hunt them.

Dark fingers tightened on the delicate glass before releasing it. “No, some of us are still alive,” he said and took another drink.

“That’s good news. We definitely need more Witchers around. Think about what would have happened if you hadn’t come by tonight!” He laid a hand over his heart. 

Coën raised a brow, “Indeed. I wonder what would have happened.”

So, the Witcher suspected something but didn’t know for sure. Maybe that’s why he accepted the dinner invitation. Harlan felt a surge of anticipation. 

“Well, I hope you enjoy your accommodations tonight as my show of my gratitude," he lifted his wine glass towards Coën and waited for the Witcher to do the same. They touched glasses and finished their wine as they stared into each other's eyes. Harlan's other hand went beneath the table cloth to find and squeeze the man's knee.

Coën stood and Harlan followed. "I'll take a look at these accommodations," the Witcher said slowly.

"That's a good idea. Make sure nothing is amiss," he watched the Witcher ascend the stairs, his two swords did nothing to hide that shapely ass. 

Harlan checked on his ward then went back to his room. He examined his appearance in the mirror. He'd stopped aging in his early thirties and had the same green eyes, imposing, muscular build, and black hair. It was getting harder and harder to convince people that he had a seventeen-year-old ward who was engaged to a young aristocrat. Soon, he would have to disappear from Colette's life, once she was happily settled, and start over somewhere else. But tonight, he refused to think about such melancholy thoughts and focused on a possibly pleasurable evening.

He waited until his clock to struck midnight before leaving. The corridors were empty, most of the guests sleeping. He walked towards the farthest room at the very end of the hall, the most secluded room in the hotel, and knocked. Coën opened the door dressed in a pair of loose low-riding pants and nothing else. 

Harlan felt his fangs descend slightly at the sight of so much delicious looking flesh, enhanced with scars, and the vision of Coën's muscular hips and that narrow trail below his bellybutton that led to happy and beautiful places. 

"Mr. Mayer, how can I help you?"

God, he hoped he wasn't wrong about the suggestiveness in the man's voice.

He leaned against the doorframe. "I just wanted to check on you and see if your accommodations are to your liking."

Coën chuckled, the sound immediately stirring Harlan's cock to life. "At midnight? I guess you better come in since you are so concerned."

Harlan hated misunderstandings, so he said as soon as the door was closed. "I want to fuck you, are you amenable to this?"

Coën's look surprised at his bluntness but recovered with an easy smile. "Oh, I'm amenable to the fucking, but I'll be fucking you."

"Is that how we're going to do it?" Harlan slipped off his robe and his shirt in quick succession and felt gratified to see Coën's hungrily stare, similar to the way he stared at his meal hours before.

"Choose a safe word," Harlan commanded as he cracked his knuckles. 

Coën furrowed his brows. "A what?"

Witchers were probably into vanilla sex, Harlan wanted to roll his eyes. "Safe word. If one of us says that word, that means we're uncomfortable with what is happening. We stop that action. Say it twice, we stop having sex for the night," Harlan winced, already suffering from blue balls at the thought.

A little bit of tension eased from Coën's shoulders. "As easy as that?" He smiled. "How about- kittens?"

Harlan raised his eyebrow in question.

"I like cats," was the last thing Coën said before lunging towards him. 

Their first kiss was as violent as a fight, but Harlan carefully avoided drawing blood. He didn't want to lose control so soon. Coën threw him on the bed and used his weight to try and hold him down. Harlan had about twenty more pounds of pure muscle on him, so he easily knocked him back and reverse their positions. 

For a few minutes, he held down Coën as he struggled against his weight and tight grip on his arms. The more he struggled, the more Harlan thought he was getting turned on. Finally, the man laid limp and whimpered. Harlan rewarded him with a kiss on his now bruised lips.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, angel," he didn't let himself linger on the man's neck but kissed his way to his heaving chest and tasted delicate brown nipples. They melted in his mouth like the pastries he used to enjoy as a human. He could hear Coën's slower than normal heartbeat pump his delicious, sweet blood through his body. Harlan took a moment to inhale his scent and store it in his memories. He smelled like warm cinnamon with a hint of vanilla. He wanted more. 

Harlan took off the man's pants and licked his lips at the sight of the large, thick veined erection. He jerked it roughly in his fist, watching his new lover throw his head back in pleasure. He slipped off his own pants and straddled one of Coën's muscular thighs and brought their erections together. Their different skin tones created a pretty contrast. 

"Ah, fuck, you're so big," Coën gasped in surprise as he looked down at their erections side by side. 

Harlan was longer and thicker, but that didn't frighten his Witcher. His cock jerked in his grip.

"I'm going to wreck that little asshole of yours," Harlan growled, watching Coën's face for any signs discomfort, but the Witcher's hips surged up in his grip. His Witcher was a bottom, probably hadn't been able to find a good cock who was capable of giving a male Witcher a hard fucking. Harlan smirked, he would rectify that today.

"Get on your knees. Show me that pretty hole," Harlan moved back and watched as Coën obeyed. Fuck, what an exquisite ass. He couldn't help but squeeze it when Coën presented himself on his hands and knees. 

"Now open yourself for me. Just like that," he whispered encouragements as Coën shyly reached behind himself and held back his cheeks. "Yes, what a gorgeous little hole."

Harlan held him open with his own hands, letting Coën settle his onto the sheets as his shoulders and head kept taking most of his weight. Harlan spread him wider and watched that tiny brown hole wink at him until he couldn't take it anymore and he leaned down to taste it. 

Coën yelled out in shocked arousal. "N-no, stop it!" But he pushed his ass onto Harlan's face. 

He pulled his face away and licked his lips, chasing that musky cinnamon taste, then wet his index finger. He hissed when his finger sank inside and Coën tightened like a vice around his finger. 

"Angel, you're so tight. When was the last time you got fucked?" He ran a hand soothingly up and down his back.

"I can't remember," Coën panted into the sheets. "Nobody wants to fuck a Witcher."

Harlan might as well be dealing with a virgin. Actual virgins were less tight.

He pulled himself away and began to search the room for something to use. Fuck, why didn't he think about bringing something? His eyes kept straying to man now on his back, jerking his cock with exaggerated moans of pleasure coming out of his soft lips. The minx was showing off. Harlan threw things on the floor, desperate need singing in his veins. He thought he was going to have to fuck him with spit when he finally found a small bottle of post-shaving oil. 

He approached the bed slowly. "Enjoying yourself?" He smirked.

Coën nodded and bit his lip as his hand went faster. "Maybe I don't need you," he smiled coyly.

Harlan smirked and opened the small bottle, throwing the top somewhere on the floor, and drizzled some oil on his cock. Coën stared at his hard member with wide yellow eyes. 

"I think I just found a use for you," he whispered hoarsely.

"Take your hand off your cock, you're only allowed to cum on my dick." 

Coën slid back onto his hands and knees and Harlan pressed an oiled finger into his hole. It slid inside easily and Harlan felt an echoing ache in his dick at the sight and feel of his tightness. He moved his finger in and out and Coën bowed his head at the sensations. He added another finger and groaned at the flash of pink flesh as the muscles relaxed into his movements. 

“You’re doing such a great job. Just like that, let me take care of you.” Harlan praised and encouraged the Witcher as he fucked him steadily with his fingers and caressed his ass and thighs. A beautiful body with the face of a warrior angel. Perfect for me, Harlan though absentmindedly.

“Just fuck me!” Coën demanded.

“You’re still not ready,” Harlan stroked himself.

“I want it to hurt,” Coën whimpered desperately. 

Harlan kneeled behind and pressed himself into his slick, tight little hole and didn’t let the Witcher get use to him until he thrust all the way inside. Coën bit his arm and trembled underneath him. Harlan paused when he was all the way inside his lover, his balls brushing against his ass. Fuck, the man was tight and so hot around his cooler flesh. 

He leaned down to cover the Witcher with his bigger body and let his hips move into the taut ass, skin slapping against skin. 

“Fuck, it hurts. I want it to hurt, I want to feel you for days,” Coën cried out, then slapped a hand over his mouth.

Harlan grabbed his hand and slammed them onto the bed, his hips still moving frantically, pounding the man into the mattress. Fuck, he didn’t want to cum yet until this man fell apart on his cock. He whispered fiercely in his ear, “You don’t get to shut up. I want every single fucking person in this hotel to know that you’re letting a monster fuck you, letting it open up this tight ass,” He punctuated his words with a slap to said ass.

Coën shook his head but his cries increased in intensity. The Witcher’s hand twisted in his grip until they were holding each other. Coën pushed back against his thrust with a hunger that amazed and aroused Harlan in equal turns. He pushed his face into the Witcher’s neck and felt his fangs descend. 

“Let me taste you, angel. Let me have a small sip. I promise that’s all I’ll take,” Harlan begged into his neck, suddenly thirsty to feel this Witcher’s fine nectar run down his throat. He knew it was going to be divine. 

He could smell an sharp increase in Coën‘s arousal and opened his mouth to deliver his bite to that smooth, brown neck when he heard a faint, “Kittens.”

Harlan bowed his head into back of Coën‘s neck and concentrated on giving him the best fuck of his life. He rammed his dick as deep as he could into the smaller man without touching his cock. He knew he could make him cum by fucking him alone. 

“When I bite you, it will feel like getting fucked twice. I’ll be inside your ass and your neck. I’ll leave my mark on both places so everyone, even other Witchers, will know that you belong to me.”

Coën screamed as he came on the expensive sheets beneath him. Harlan was glad that he brought out the nearby rooms, then couldn't think about anything else before yelling his release deep into the Witcher's ass. He slumped on top of the man, knowing he was strong enough to take his weight.

Both men laid panting on the bed for a few minutes. Harlan slid off his back and Coën whined when he felt his cock slip from his body. 

"So, what do you think about your accommodations?" Harlan asked when he felt more confident that he put together words and have them make sense.

Coën rolled onto his back and stretched like a giant version of those cats he was so fond of. Harlan felt his cock twitch. He frowned, he usually had a stricter control over his libido, especially because he had the tendency to bite his partners. Something about this Witcher made him want more.

"Um, I don't know. I think I've had better," he raised a long, toned leg teasingly, and Harlan growled before pouncing.

When he woke up late in the morning, the Witcher was gone.


	2. At the Stake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful and humbled by the support this story has received so far! This is an amazing fandom, and you're awesome readers!
> 
> This is a more action driven chapter. I'm laying down the foundation of Harlan's and Coën's relationship before we get into events that happen after Witcher's Bond.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!

**2 Years Before Witcher's Heat/Witcher's Bond**

  
Spring

Coën was traveling in the far north of Kovir, looking for work and finding nothing. He certainly wasn't thinking of visiting the handsome and charming vampire he'd met last year. He couldn't stop thinking about the male and the incredible night they spent together. 

It was pure impulsiveness and curiosity that made him stop and intervene that day, something that the trainers at Kaer Seren couldn't beat out of him. He knew the male was a vampire the minute he had unsheathed his sword to strike down the humans he'd been tracking. Their stench covered another heinous scene a few days down the main road that involved children. It would interfere with his business if he'd left them live, he told himself as he hunted the gang of humans. 

He could have left the vampire to finish them off, but he was curious. He was curious about the human girl traveling with such a deadly and rare creature, and he was curious about the vampire himself. He'd never met one, but Vesemir did, and said it was one of the worst hunts of his life. He didn't think Vesemir would approve of what he ended up doing with the vampire, he smirked at his own thoughts.

He wasn't exaggerating when he said that people didn't want to fuck Witchers. People took one look at his tall stature and his golden eyes and made all sorts of assumptions about what he wanted. Of course, a Witcher who looked like him wanted to fuck, not be fucked, dominate and not be dominated. Maybe there was something wrong with him. 

All the other Witchers at Kaer Seren and Kaer Morhen seemed to like to do the fucking, meanwhile Coën just felt nervous and strange about it. His aversion even extended to his heats. His heats were torture because he burned for someone to fill him again and again for the whole two days. He couldn't even touch himself, though, because his own touch felt like fire on his skin. At least, he had that in common with other Witchers.

"The lord of the town is a vampire," he heard a woman say. Coën slowed his horse and focused his hearing on a couple walking nearby. They hadn't seen him, so they continued walking undisturbed. 

"A vampire?" The man gasped and crossed himself. 

"Yes, with fangs and everything. He was pretending to be a gentleman and even disguised his whore as his own daughter! Disgusting!" She spat on the ground.

"You can't trust anyone! Did they leave town?"

"No, I heard they are going to get burned at the stake tonight, good riddance with that evil! The new mayor of the town wanted to set an example. He even hired a Witcher, a giant beast of a man, to put down the vampire for good."

Coën dug his heels into his horse and ran in the direction of the town Harlan called his own. He'd let it slip after their second session together. Even if he ran as fast as his horse could, he was still hours away. He tried to use every bit of his Witcher training to control his frantic emotions because he needed a cool head tonight.

It was dark when he arrived at the outskirts of town. He could sense the fury and anger in the air and hear the faint yells and screams. Every instinct in his body told him to run, this was a dangerous situation for a lone Witcher, but he needed to get Harlan.

He tied his exhausted horse near a tree and grabbed a few potions from his pouch. On his way into town, he saw a wagon and took the precious minutes to drag it next to his horse, in case he needed to drag out a body or two. Despite the increase fervor of the yells and the pounding of his own heart, Coën also took a minute to kneel down and cover his exposed skin in mud. If who he thought was involved in this, he needed to keep his presence a secret for as long as possible.

It was worse than he imagined because it was indeed Harlan and his daughter, the girl with the honey blonde hair. Harlan was tied down by ropes that ran across his chest, biceps, and legs and were anchored onto the ground with pikes. His fine clothes were ripped and he could see that he had been injured and stabbed a few times. Coën sniffed in his direction and mentally shifted past the smells of several unwashed bodies to focus on the vampire. Vampire oil, another Witcher was in the area.

Harlan's daughter was tied against a wooden stake, surrounded by piles of wood and hay. She was dressed in what looked like a dirty nightgown. She sobbed into the gag in her mouth and stared directly at her father.

A small man in a suit gestured and yelled at the crowd with a lit torch in his hand. Coën focused on what he saying. 

"This demon came into our town and deceived us for many years! Pretending to be our friend, but he was really our worst enemy. Our enemy butchering our children, wives, and neighbors as we slept! And this slut," he pointed in anger at the girl and smiled nastily when the crowd started booing, "she pretends to be innocent and the vision of loveliness but she lies with a minion of hell, a vampire!" The crowd went wild and Coën took another step back into the shadows of the tree. He still hadn't seen the Witcher.

"I believed her!" The man screamed into the crowd. "I let her get engaged to my own son! I was going to make her my daughter! Well, because of this Witcher, I was shown the truth," he pointed to the gigantic man standing behind him, also obscured by the shadows. Coën didn't need to see his medallion to know that he was from the School of the Bear, the most fearsome and aggressive school among the Witchers. 

Harlan looked dazed and tired, his head lowered, but he raised it when he saw the small man near the stake with the torch.

"Leave her alone! She's innocent!" He screamed.

Tears ran down the girl's dirty face when the man threw the torch into the wood beneath her. "We burn the sin clean!"

"Burn the sin!" The crowd chanted. 

Coën's mind whirred frantically. He needed to do something to distract the crowd. He had to get both of them out of here. But his worry for Harlan kept interring with a plan.

The vampire growled, deep in his throat, and it was a sound that caused the fine hairs on Coën's arm to stand straight. Before everyone's eyes, he began to transform. His nails lengthened into claws, his fangs extended past his lips, and his muscles expanded. He growled again and pushed against the rope. One thick strand pulled free out of the pike and some humans ran away screaming. He lunged forward towards the burning stake and dug his nails into the dirt, trying to move. The Bear Witcher was faster than Coën anticipated. He almost materialized behind the vampire and stabbed him in the chest with a silver sword coated in vampire oil. Harlan screamed in pain and crumbled. The girl thrashed in her restraints, then started coughing. She had minutes before she asphyxiated. 

Coën had seen enough. A rough plan formed in his head and he prayed to whatever gods cared about Witchers and vampires that he would survive this. He took a couple of potions to help with speed and strength, then set about making as much chaos as he could. He threw rocks at horses, causing them to neigh and flee, he threw rocks at the people, as hard as he could, and some fell unconscious, making others scream. 

"It's the demonic powers of the vampire! We're all going to die!" People ran around, screaming without order. Coën didn't stay in one place for more than a second but used his agility and the shadows to dart around and scatter the mob. Coën pushed one of the torch stands onto a house, adding more fuel to the chaos. 

The Bear Witcher stood unmoved as he watched the commotion with narrow eyes. He knew someone was behind it but couldn't see Coën with his bare eyes or smell him. In a fair fight, that Witcher might win with brute strength, but Coën was smarter and faster- he was a Griffin. 

"Fix this!" The small man screamed at the Witcher. 

"I'll take my payment and the vampire's head as my trophy," he replied. 

Maybe Coën was going to have to fight anyways. It still didn't have to be fair. 

"No, reward until you get this town under control. You promised me a town, and I promised you a rare Higher Vampire. Now, fill your end of the bargain."

Coën only had seconds when the Witcher lumbered off in the opposite direction. He didn't hesitate, he went to get the girl. He freed her from her bonds and pulled her down just before the flames could lick at her feet. She'd lost consciousness, so she wouldn't be of any help when trying to escape. 

At this point, Coën hesitated. He could flee with the girl and leave the vampire to his fate. He knew it would be what Harlan would want, if his parental feelings towards the girl were true. But he didn't want to leave without the vampire. He couldn't live with himself if he did. 

He laid the girl behind a thick tree and went towards the still creature. He pulled the sword out of his chest, no reaction. The vampire could have entered a healing trance. He couldn't die, only a Higher Vampire could permanently kill each other. This knowledge did little to ease his fears as his hands undid the ropes tying his vampire to the ground. 

"I knew something strange was a foot," a deep voice growled behind him. 

Coën mentally cursed and turned to see the Bear Witcher, already in a fighting stance. 

"That's my kill, get your own rare find," he swung his steel sword. 

"Sorry, I'm claiming this one," Coën pulled his steel sword out and raised it. Brains over brawn, he repeated to himself. "Maybe you should ask your new master for another hunt." Witchers hated working for humans and to insinuate that one was leading him by the collar, so the speak, was an terrible insult. 

Turning red, the Witcher charged. Coën kneeled and grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it in his face. The Bear Witcher roared. Coën knew he could still hear, so he ran around him and struck him in the legs until he fell. He flipped and twisted out of the way, grateful that he was on the leaner side, and struck the Bear Witcher on the back of the head. He fell unconscious. Even though he knew he had made an enemy, Coën couldn't kill this Witcher. It went against everything taught to him at Kaer Seren.

He slung Harlan over his back and carried the girl in his arms. Dripping with sweat, he made it back to his horse and secured the two onto the wagon. He hoisted the wagon to his horse and left the burning town behind.

He didn't know where to go, but all he knew was that he needed put distance between himself and the town. The Bear Witcher was could already be awake and tracking them, Bears were excellent trackers.

"Where are we going?" A small voice asked behind him. It was the girl, she was awake and looked around in confusion as she was jostled in the narrow wagon. He noticed that she held a pale, limp hand in hers.

"We are going somewhere safe," he said, trying to keep his eyes on the road ahead and his ears on the surrounding area. 

"Papa's Witcher?" 

He ducked his head, even though she couldn't see him, and blushed through the dark tone of his skin. He cleared his throat and replied, "Yes, I'm Coën. And you are?"

"Colette," she said. 

Silence reigned between them for several minutes. Coën always felt nervous around women and children and this girl was a mixture of both.

"Colette, do you feel well enough to ride with me on the horse? I can secure Ha-your father better." And they could move a little faster. 

"Yes, I can do that."

He stopped for a few precious minutes and helped the girl off the wagon and onto his horse, then secured Harlan more tightly on the wagon. 

"Does sunlight bother him?" He asked, nodding towards the rising sun. 

Colette looked confused before understanding dawned. She shook her head. 

Good, at least that part of the lore was true. He made sure every inch of covered him was covered, just in case. 

He got in front of Colette, and they were off. 

"Everyone I knew was there," he almost couldn't hear the girl because she spoke so lowly that the beats of the horse's hooves nearly drowned out her voice. "My friends, my neighbors, my fiancé were all there in the crowd, yelling for me and Papa to die. They've known us for years, and Papa never hurt any of them. How could they-" He heard the tremor in her voice and felt her press her face lightly against his back. "You're a Witcher and you're the only one who came and helped us. I thought Witchers were all like that big one, heartless and cruel, but I'm glad you're different. Thank you."

He smiled at the last part. For the first time, he was glad, too, that he wasn't the perfect Witcher. 

"If you want to go somewhere safe, Papa has a secret hideout in Kovir's Lan Exeter. It's east of the city, through the main forest." She let out a trembling breath and didn't speak for the rest of the long journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to kudos and/or review! Your support makes it easier to keep writing.


	3. Blood and Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are again! This is the last chapter of "filling in the blanks" in Harlan's/Coën's relationship. The next chapters will take place after Witcher's Bond. 
> 
> If you haven't read Witcher's bond, it's recommended but not necessary!
> 
> Thank you for giving this story a chance and for reviewing and leaving kudos!

Harlan jerked himself awake. The first thing he noticed was that he was incredibly sore and his body felt like one giant wound. The next thing was the overpowering thirst in the back of his throat. He wanted, no needed, blood. His canines were longer than normal, and they refused to retract. 

"Finally awake? Good, that took a while," a light, masculine voice said. Coën. 

It must have been morning with the bright sunlight streaming into the room. He saw the tall, dark figure through his blurred vision. It looked like he had been reading something. Coën, his archangel. He closed his eyes to focus on Coën's strong heartbeat. It pumped his exquisite blood through his veins and the sound of the rushing liquid soothed him in some ways and aroused him in others. He sensed another, steady heartbeat close to him and felt a warm head on his arm.

"Colette?" The last thing he remembered was seeing her crying, and he had been helpless to help her. The last thing he'd ever wanted was to see her in pain. Even though he was nearly overcome by his thirst, his fangs would never hurt an inch of his ward's skin.

"She's fine, just resting. She's a strong one," Coën walked to the other side and laid a warm hand on his cheeks. "You're still so pale and cold. Your wounds aren't healing anymore. I thought vampires healed over time. It's been weeks."

"Where are we?" He whispered. 

"In your hideout in Lan Exeter. Colette said this was safe. I was expecting a hole in the wall, not a small mansion," he could almost hear Coën grin teasingly. The hands left his face to go to chest. "Harlan, how can I help you?"

"I'm not a vampire," he struggled to open his eyes. Coën's beautiful golden gaze stared down at him in confusion. "I'm a Dhampir." No one, except for his deceased mother knew this about him, and now Coën.

Coën's eyes widened. "Half vampire, half human? I didn't know you could exist without... How do I help?" He asked in determination. 

Harlan gave him a weak chuckle. "I need blood, lots of blood. Animal is fine," he confessed. Unlike Higher Vampires who drank blood as a form of recreation, Dhampirs needed blood for healing and couldn't go for long periods without it. He hated to choke down the oily animal blood, but it would get the job done and start the healing process.

"I understand," Coën nodded. 

Harlan looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing his normal black robes. Further examination revealed that his wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, but weren't closing. The skin on his hands was so pale and brittle that he was practically translucent, showing the dark, frozen veins. He must look terrible and ghastly.

"Papa," the small head on his arm stirred slowly. 

"Colette, my dear," he whispered. "Are you alright?" He sensed Coën move away.

"Oh, you're awake!" The girl stood and clasped his hand. Harlan examined her features and was satisfied to see that she looked well and healthy, except for her puffy, red eyes. The bruises from that awful night had faded away. 

"I guess, I have a lot to explain," he squeezed her hand weakly. 

"You don't," she smiled and shook her head. "I've always known you were different, just never had a name for it," she shrugged. "And after a while, I didn't care."

"All these years?" he asked faintly, his tired mind reeling. 

"You don't eat, you don't age, and I caught you, uh, snacking on father," she smiled at the shocked expression on his face. "He deserved it for everything he did to Mama and me. I just hate that others can't see what a good person you really are." 

If he had any liquids to spare, he would have shed some tears of relief and pride. He stared adoringly at the girl, their conversation temporarily distracting him from his thirst. 

She stood. "I'll let Coën take of you now," she winked at him. "I think he's nice." She left. What happened to his demure, vaguely spoiled daughter? 

"She's right, it's time I took care of you," Coën stepped into his field of vision and undid the buttons of his shirt, then slipped it off. 

Harlan's eyes devoured what his mouth, and teeth, couldn't. So much warm, luscious skin. He could hear the pounding of the Witcher's heart as his succulent blood welled up underneath the surface of his skin. 

"The way you look at me," Coën muttered, his cheeks acquiring an appetizing twinge of red, then he removed his pants and stood in front of Harlan, naked.

As he moved closer, Harlan could feel his instincts taking over. His fangs fully emerged and his canines sharpened. He tasted the sweetness of his anti-coagulant and mild sedative hormones seep into his saliva and his muscles tensed. 

"Kittens," he muttered. Coën immediately stopped, only a few feet away from him. He smelled so good, his cinnamon scent was so strong, and it made him so thirsty. With supreme effort, he grunted out, "I can't control myself."

Coën cocked his head. "Of course, I'm not expecting you to. You need blood, and I have a lot of it. We both know animal blood is not going to be enough. I took my clothes off because I read somewhere that vampires also found sex healing. Seemed a bit strange, so maybe that part isn't true."

He was babbling. Harlan would find it endearing if he wasn't crazed with his thirst. "Coën, I can hurt you. Seriously hurt you." And he didn't want to hurt the man, he liked him.

Coën shrugged. "I'm a Witcher, accelerated healing. Just don't kill me," he chuckled awkwardly. 

"Coën, leave. Right. Now," With Colette in the house, Harlan thought he could resist following him for longer than a few minutes.

"Take me, Harlan. Take what you need."

His control snapped. He didn't remember leaving his bed but suddenly he was pressed in front of the Witcher and held his head to the side. He hissed before digging his teeth into the smooth neck. Usually, he would bite only with his fangs but because he was so hungry, he instinctually used his canines to bite even deeper. It must have hurt but Coën only groaned and fell against him. 

He was right, his blood was divine. It was warm and thick in his mouth and tasted like Coën's natural scent, cinnamon and vanilla mixed with the faintly metallic taste of iron. He immediately felt stronger and his chest wounds started healing with the potency of Coën's blood. 

He wrapped his arm around his prey and pulled him onto the bed. Blood and sex were intertwined for vampires and dhampirs weren't any different. He squeezed his jaw and growled in satisfaction when more blood rushed into his mouth. His borrowed blood surged between his legs and his manhood thrust between Coën's cheeks as his throat swallowed mouth after mouthful of the heavenly liquid.

He dropped his limp prey on the bed but kept his teeth embedded in his neck. He pushed down his loose pants and wanted to thrust inside the man with full force but he remembered how tight he was the last time. Instead, he rutted against his ass, growling each time the tip of cock caught against his hole. When he came, he splattered his release on his ass.

Coën's heartbeat started to quicken, signaling that the heart was working harder due to blood loss, so Harlan pulled away. His teeth retracted, and he licked at the mess of a wound he left on the man's neck. His additional saliva should help with the healing process. He didn't do a thorough job, though, he wanted to look at that wound for a while longer.

He tenderly turned Coën on his back and stared at his ashen face. "Coën?" He kissed the man's cool cheeks.

The Witcher's golden eyes fluttered open. "Mmm, that hurt," he whimpered. 

Harlan smiled fondly. "Didn't I warn you? What possessed you to offer yourself like that to a starving dhampir?"

Coën shrugged, then winced. "You needed me," was all he said.

Harlan spent the rest of the day pampering his Witcher. He hand fed him generous portions of the finest food they had in the mansion while he lounged in bed and held him as he slept. Harlan couldn't help but frequently return to the healing wound on his neck. It would be gone in a matter of days, if not sooner. He wished that he could leave a permanent mark but those were dangerous thoughts. He didn't think Coën was interested in what that entailed, and Harlan didn't think he was ready for that commitment. No matter how bewitching and heroic the Witcher was.

The next week was equally dangerous for Harlan, though. Coën just fit with him and even with Colette. He was smart and funny, blunt and enthusiastic, gorgeous and brave. After the traumatic events at their hometown, Harlan and Colette felt safer and at ease around the Witcher. He could hear it in Colette's laughter and feel it in how soundly he slept at night with the Witcher in his arms.

For so many years, Harlan wandered around the world alone, searching for answers to his existence. Out of all the concubines and human wives his vampire father amassed throughout his lifetime, why did he manage to impregnant one? Why was he born? While on this journey, he hadn't realized how lonely he was until Colette came into his life, and he hadn't realized how lonely they were until Coën came into their lives. In town, they'd been surrounded by people but they had to keep up appearances and hide a part of themselves from everyone. Perhaps, the humans sensed that something was off about them, and that tension grew until lies and misinformation filled in the rest driven by the jealously he sensed in the new mayor. 

Too soon, Coën had to leave to follow his Witcher's Path. Colette didn't really understand why he would chose to return to a life of lonely hunting but hid her disappointment behind smiles.

Harlan knew that duty came before anything else for all Witchers, but the knowledge was a cold comfort. Before Coën left, Harlan kissed him hungrily on the mouth and laid a hand on that tantalizing pulse on his neck.

"Next year, same time, same place?" Harlan asked when he released the Witcher. 

Coën nodded eagerly and kissed him one more time. Then, he was on his horse and rode away without looking back.

Colette wrapped her arms around him from behind and Harlan patted her arm, thinking that she needed comfort. Then, he it dawned on him that she was comforting him.

**1 Month Before Witcher's Heat/Witcher's Bond**

  
End of Fall / Early Winter

Coën dodged, narrowly missing getting flattened by a drowner. Another one attacked him from behind and he slashed at it with his silver sword. Hisses and growls surrounded him from all sides as the sound of fighting beckoned the creatures closer. 

He kept swinging and stabbing, but he was tiring quickly and the numbers of drowners just kept growing. This was supposed to be an easy mission. He cursed himself for getting greedy and wanting one more mission before heading to Kaer Morhen for the winter. He couldn't face his end in some backwoods swamp, working for a group of people who didn't care if he lived or died. Desperate, he swung and hacked through a good chunk of the drowners, causing some of them to hang back warily.

One jumped on him in a surprisingly agile move, and Coën fell onto the ground with the growling, snapping creature on top of him. He held it back by the neck as its foul breath warmed the side of his face, the drowner's jaws snapping against his face. He felt the swarm descend on him and one bit him on the thigh, causing Coën to scream in pain. The last of the Griffins couldn't end like this. 

He was ready to close his eyes to his fate when the drowner on top of his froze with a sword piercing its slimy head. Coën looked up to see a tall, masculine figure slicing through the drowners surrounding him with a short blade. Only silver will kill those creature, so Coën stood up and fought back-to-back with the new arrival. This time he was also fueled by his desire to keep his partner safe. 

When the last of the drowners fell, Coën turned to the tall, grinning man, "I had it under control, Harlan."

"You sure did, angel," Harlan pushed his shoulder length hair back and straightened his black suit. "You're welcome, by the way."

Coën rolled his eyes when he could tear them away from the man's well-built form. "How did you find me?"

"I was strolling through the area," Harlan sauntered over to Coën, who was cleaning his silver sword against a thick patch of moss. "And I heard about a big Witcher with a beard and a Griffin medallion doing a job," he pressed his body against Coën's back. "I came over here to offer my assistance and see if I could get a little something in return," he squeezed the Witcher's taut ass in case his desires weren't evident enough from the erection Coën could feel digging into him.

"We're supposed to meet each other during the spring in Lan Exeter," Coën groaned when those nimble hands went from his ass to briefly cup his growing cock.

"But I'm here now, and I rented a fabulous little chateau. Strictly for business reasons," Harlan ran his hands over Coën's thighs and pressed his face into his neck and inhaled. 

"I smell like drowner guts," Coën couldn't help but push into the other's body and turn his head to the side.

"You smell delicious," Harlan raked his canines over the pulsing vein underneath the warm brown skin. 

The feel of his teeth jolted Coën out his lust induced haze and he moved away from the man.

"Remember our rules," Coën smirked as he walked away towards the village. 

"Come to my place later, anyways. I'm an hour's ride south of town. I can promise better accommodations than what you're getting at that shabby inn," Harlan's words echoed in his ear as Coën collected his payment from the grimacing locals and headed to his room. 

It was a dump. The bed was stained, the floor muddy and grimy, and the water filling his tub was murky. The porridge he ordered was cold and greasy-looking. Harlan would have a warm bath with those silly, scented bubbles that Coën secretly liked. He could enjoy the finest glass of wine along with meal fit for a king. And at night, he would scream his pleasure for anyone to hear as Harlan drove into him as hard as he craved. 

He was halfway to his horse before he'd even realized that he'd made a decision. Coën gritted his teeth and turned himself around. He already allowed himself a week of debauchery with the creature. For the past two years, Coën met with Harlan at his nice little "hideout" in the outskirts of Lan Exeter, in their home country of Kovir. There, he let himself get fucked as long and as hard as he craved by the sexist person he had ever met. It was his dirty little secret, and if the Wolves of Kaer Morhen were to find out, they would sooner hunt Harlan down and shun Coën forever than accept this relationship. If there was one outside of sex. Good things didn't last long for Witchers, and Coën needed to remember to keep some type of distance between himself and Harlan.

Back in his room, Coën cringed as he used the murky water to clean himself. He forced down a few mouthfuls of the gruel and laid down on the cleanest part of the bed. He closed his eyes and pretended that he was with Harlan in what was probably a lavish room. He imagined that he could feel his cool flesh against bare arm, and Coën felt so safe. He knew that Harlan would protect him and was capable of giving him everything he wanted and more.

"My beautiful angel," Harlan purred in his ear. Coën's eyes snapped open. The huge male with his electric green gaze with in his room, lying besides him in bed and wearing soft-looking shirt and pants. Coën glanced over at the half-eaten gruel, what was in that crap?

"I'm very upset with you, angel," Harlan kissed his jaw gently, long fingers caressing his face and beard. "I waited for you, you didn't show, and I got a little worried. I thought my Witcher got lost. But I find you here, choosing to sleep in filth than in luxury."

Coën turned his head and sucked in one long, manicured finger into his mouth. He stared into green orbs as he slowly pulled the digit out of his wet hole. Harlan's eyes darkened with lust, and Coën loved having power over this compelling creature. 

"I want you to fuck me," he whispered lowly, so lowly that Harlan had to lean into him to hear him. He smirked, he knew that the creature had supernatural hearing. "Fuck me in Lan Exeter during Spring as we agreed, Harlan!"

Harlan groaned and slammed his head against the pillow. "Fuck, what's under here, stones?" He groaned again. "Spring is eons away, angel, and I'm here, you're here now, let's have some fun shall we?"

"Fun could led to both of our deaths," Coën theorized gloomily.

"Or, to the best night of our lives," Harlan grinned and kissed his bare arm. 

Coën leaned over the male and kissed him on the mouth. It was a short kiss, not meant to be incendiary, and from the regretful look on Harlan's perfectly structured face, he got the message loud and clear.

"You're staying here," he stated unhappily. "And no fun times?"

"Nope, but you're adorable for coming all the way here," Coën straddled the man's muscular waist, making sure that their groins weren't in contact. "For leaving your golden chateau." He used an exaggerated french accent on the last word. 

"It's not golden, it's creme colored," Harlan grumbled, his hands automatically settling on Coën's thighs.  
  
Coën settled himself on Harlan's wide, tanned chest and shifted down, wincing a little when he brushed their erections together briefly. Harlan groan a little in his throat before running his hands down Coën's back.

"Tell me about it," he closed his eyes and let Harlan pet him. 

"It has a four poster bed in the bedroom, king sized. The bed feels like sleeping on clouds and smells like it, too."

Coën slapped him on his side. "Clouds don't smell!"

Harlan smirked into the Witcher's thick, soft hair, "Clouds smell better than this bed."

"Stop kidding around and continue," Coën pouted and closed his eyes again.

"It has a nice fireplace with a deep, plush rug that feels like silk in your fingers. I fantasized about fucking you on your hands and knees there. There’s still time, changed your mind yet?” A brief shake of his head was all that Coën could muster as a reply.

Harlan sighed and continued describing the expensive and luxurious chateau in exquisite detail and he kindly included very detailed fantasies that Coën had to curtail by pinching or tickling his side. The damn Dhampir wasn’t ticklish but pinches worked fine.

Coën grew up with nothing and came from nothing. Growing up, he played with dirt with the other village children and went to bed with an empty belly. He could barely remember his parents because his mother wasn’t around and his father kept leaving the village to find work in the nearby towns. He remembered his sister, Alia, and how hard she worked to put together scraps of food for him and his siblings. They all died when the pox plague hit their village. 

A Witcher found him, the sole survivor, and took him to Kaer Seren, saying that if he could survive that, he could survive the mutagens. And he did. He was almost ten while most of his classmates were around six. Decades later, mages stormed Kaer Seren, and he and another Witcher were the sole survivors of the massacre. The other Witcher disappeared and he never heard from him again. He could be dead for all he knew, and Coën was the last living Griffin.

Maybe it was because of his difficult upbringing that Coën loved to hear about Harlan’s extravagant lifestyle. He knew that the Dhampir’s life wasn’t easy, but Harlan's wealthy background was a part of his charm. It was a very small piece of all the things Coën liked about him. And that frightened Coën - that he liked too many things about Harlan.

He rubbed his face into the soft material of his shirt and breathed in the Dhampir's scent. He smelled like sandalwood, a rich and heady scent that made him want to sink into him and never leave. 

"Darling angel, if you keep doing that, I won't be able to respect your wishes," he heard Harlan whisper sensually in his ear. 

Coën blushed when he realized that he had been rubbing himself against the Dhampir, like some dog in heat. He pulled himself away but Harlan grabbed him by the wrist and flipped them over, so the creature was on top. 

"If only one of us is having fun, it doesn't count, right?" Harlan smirked and his hands went to Coën's pants. The Witcher's quickened breathing was his only reply. 

Harlan stroked his erection in a tight fist, using the leaking precum from the tip as a lubricant. The Dhampir stared down at him with his luminous green eyes. Coën wanted to cover his face because Harlan stared at him like he wanted to swallow every inch of him, like he was starving for Coën in more ways than one. 

Harlan leaned down to kiss the moaning Witcher. He nuzzled his beard, then went lower and sucked on that extra sensitive spot on his neck. The same spot Harlan bit where Coën let him feed from him when he was injured. Coën gasped and gripped his bulky biceps as Harlan sucked harder on that spot and moved his hand faster. He finally went over the edge and released into the Dhampir's grip when Harlan raked his blunt teeth over the sensitive skin.

"Oh, shit," Coën groaned when Harlan brought a finger to his mouth and tasted his cum. 

"Hmm, sweet," he grinned saucily. 

Coën surged up and kissed the Dhampir, moaning at the taste of himself on his lover's tongue.

He wished... He wished...

But he couldn't stop being a Witcher. Harlan couldn't stop being Harlan, and he would never desire that.

If Coën knew that he wouldn't meet up with Harlan in the Spring, he wouldn't have made him leave so quickly afterwards. If he'd known that his winter at Kaer Morhen would convince him that he couldn't see the vampire ever again, he might have done things differently. After meeting Jaskier, Geralt's Consort, his life would change forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please don't forget to leave kudos and/or review! It's helpful to know what people enjoy about the story or what questions you have. Thanks to everyone who has supported this series since the beginning!


	4. Heat, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for supporting this story! It feels great to read people's reviews and kudos.
> 
> I think I'm going to take a break from writing after I finish this story. It's been an amazing journey for me. I didn't think I could write so much and for long, but I proved to myself that nothing is impossible. Thanks for loving this series!

**2 Years Later (A few months before the ending of Witcher's Bond, Chapter 8)**

End of Fall / Early Winter

_In the cafeteria style dining hall, George of Kagen, Kaer Seren's star Witcher, stalked among the rows of tables and Witchers and flung a bloody bag at the young man sitting next to Coën. Jerome stared at it questioningly._

_"Open it up, Witcher," George spat out the word like a curse. "Take a look at what you've done."_

_Still confused and irritated that all eyes were on him, Jerome opened the bag and choked back a sob._

_"You call yourself a Griffin when you lay between that filth's legs and take your pleasure? Or," George put his face close to the shaking youth's, "Did you bend over and let him take you like a bitch?"_

_Coën held him back by wrapping his arms around his shoulders. George was legendary and one of the best fighters Kaer Seren had. Jerome had no chance at confronting him in a physical public fight._

_George laughed nastily. "Put this monster fucker in the dungeons for the rest of the month," he told the trainers and left._

_When they hauled him away, Coën grabbed the bag and opened it. He screamed when he saw Harlan's bloodless head._

Coën jolted himself awake, sweat clinging to his body. He slammed his fists on the satin sheets. This nightmare again!

Jerome had been his friend who had confided in Coën that he liked an incubus. He'd met the creature on one of his hunts. Instead of killing it, he let the beautiful monster go, knowing that it wasn't malicious. He'd met up with it months later and started an illicit relationship with him. The School of the Griffin had strict standards about interspecies relationships. Witchers could only fraternize with humans or mages if the need arose. However, any type of serious, romantic relationships were frowned upon. And two things were absolutely not tolerated- relationships with an undesignated species and relations amongst Witchers themselves. Jerome wasn't careful enough. George of Kagen, their trainer, found out about the relationship and hunted the incubus himself. Jerome died on a hunt a few years after that.

Intellectually, Coën knew that the Wolves were nothing like the Griffins. And not all Griffins were xenophobic because he knew of a few who quietly had their interspecies affairs, but the fear wouldn't leave his heart. The possibility of a bond didn't just involve him or Harlan, it involved Jaskier and the other Witchers and now Ciri because if he'd mated Harlan, he would be connected to them all. Who knows what they would do if he brought someone they deemed unsuitable and dangerous.

When he'd met Jaskier, he absolutely adored him. He was cute, smelled wonderful without that stench of fear that most humans had towards Witchers, and he seemed like a good person. After finding out about Consorts, Coën knew that he was in danger of following Geralt's example. But Instead of finding an adorable, harmless human to mate with, he would have mated with a handsome, bloodthirsty vampire. 

"Fuck," he muttered to himself and swung his legs off the bed. He padded around the empty mansion. His heat should hit him in the next few days, and he decided to spend it in Harlan's "hideout" mansion. Without the Dhampir, of course.

Right after leaving Kaer Morhen and spending his first winter with Jaskier, he decided to break things off permanently with him. It was too dangerous, his feelings were getting too serious, and his heats were not a fairytale, like Vesemir said. He wouldn't get to ride into the sunset with his handsome, vampiric prince. They were too different, had too many factors to consider, and he was afraid of being rejected from the only home he had. 

So, with a heavy heart and trembling hands, he sent Harlan a letter to their "hideout" mansion in Lan Exeter and told him that they couldn't see each other again. He hadn't seen the Dhampir in almost two years. Two agonizing years of looking for him in every tall, dark haired man he'd met, of feeling unsatisfied with his own touch during long, solitary nights in the warm spring air, and of this aching loneliness. He hadn't realized how much he had looked forward to their meetings and had categorized things in his mind as before and after meeting up with Harlan.

Despite his companions at Kaer Morhen, he felt as alone as this mansion with its light layer of dust and cobwebs. Harlan must have abandoned it when he found out that Coën wasn't coming anymore. He'd hoped to find a faint trace of the Dhampir's scent to tide him over during his grueling heat. Finding nothing to keep his attention from depressing thoughts, Coën turned back to "his" room and poked at the crackling fire with the metal poker. 

Harlan didn't usually travel to this part of Kovir in the fall and winter and the abandoned state of mansion confirmed that it was safe for Coën to use during his heat. Since it was so close to winter, he'd briefly thought about heading to Kaer Morhen and having his heat over there. But he didn't want so many people around him, especially the Wolves, in case he started begging for someone to go and find Harlan, so he could come and fill him. 

He moaned at the wave of heat that crashed over his body at the thought. He laid himself on the bed and inhaled the scent from the covers. He couldn't detect one whiff of the creature's magnificent scent. He whimpered and began to scratch into his skin, feeling the soft material of the oversized shirt irritating and pulling at him. He didn't want to take it off because it was Harlan's. 

Harlan. Harlan. He needed him.

It was still early enough for him to take himself in hand without pain, so Coën pulled the shirt over his toned, muscular hips and stroked himself. He could feel his hole clenching around empty air as he threw his head back and tried to envision his Dhampir. 

"Started without me, angel?" A silky voice purred. 

For a moment, he thought that he must have an excellent imagination and his cock jerked hard in his hand before that heady, rich aroma of sandalwood captivated his senses. He opened his eyes to see a disheveled looking Harlan leaning against the doorway with both anger and desire in his green gaze.

-

After one of his scouts reported seeing a Witcher at Lan Exeter, Harlan hoped that he would find in their hideout. Maybe he could finally get an explanation. When he opened the doors to the mansion, Harlan had to take a few seconds to drink in the thick cinnamon, vanilla scent that was uniquely Coën's. It was so strong and had an extra layer that was hard for Harlan to describe. It reminded him of pure sex. Immediately aroused, he followed the scent trail and found Coën on their bed, jerking himself off.

The tiny whimpers he made went directly to Harlan's cock and his thick scent made him want to cum all over the Witcher. Maybe he'd do that before questioning him. 

He made his presence known, and he'd expected Coën to either be embarrassed or seductive, but not stare at him in fear. The Witcher sat up and pulled down his shirt, which he just realized was his, making Harlan growled a little.

"My sweet angel," Harlan purred as he stalked towards his silent prey, keeping the doorway behind him. "I'm so angry with you, but here you are. So beautiful and you smell-" he scented the air around Coën lightly, "like you're ready." 

"Ready for what?" Coën's trembling voice aroused the Dhampir further.

"For me to breed you," he swallowed Coën's moan with his mouth. He felt drugged as he kissed Coën, drugged by his scent and his warm, sweet taste, and all he wanted to do was keep him full with his cock. 

He pushed the Witcher down onto the bed and followed him closely, blanketing him with his body. Coën wrapped those amazingly long legs of his around his waist, and Harlan couldn't help but run his hand admiringly over one of them before he ground his hard cock against the body underneath his. 

Coën yelled his name and rocked back against him, shaking his head to the side. Harlan felt out of his mind with desire, he'd never experienced anything like it. His fangs descended without his conscious decision, and he was two seconds away from burying his cock and fangs into Coën.

"I'm going to give it you, angel," he whispered and reached down to undo his pants.

"I need you, Harlan, I'll always need you," Coën panted as he fisted the shirt he was wearing. "You make me, ah, feel better."

Harlan pulled out his erection and stroked it harshly. He knew that his slick pre-cum wouldn't be enough lubricant for Coën's tiny hole, but he couldn't even think about leaving him to find some oil. Fuck it, he was going to bury himself inside of the other man near dry.

"Please forgive me," Coën said and swung the metal poker against his head. Harlan didn't register that Coën had stretched to grab the rod until he felt the pain in his head. Dazed, he felt his Witcher dart from the room. 

He shook his head, snarled ferociously with barred fangs, and followed. He almost caught Coën a few times, but the Witcher was quicker and more agile, plus Harlan's pants were still undone but he didn't have the presence of mind to fix himself. He just wanted to catch Coën and ram into him again and again until both forgot where one ended and the other began.

Coën ran into one of the extra guest bedrooms and slammed the door shut behind him. Harlan barreled into the door, causing the hinges to squeak. He heard a rumble on the other side and knew that Coën was barricading himself by placing furniture against the door.

His fists pounded on the door, "Coën! Coën, let me in!"

"You weren't supposed to be here! I'm sorry, Harlan, this is my fault," he heard Coën sob. "I didn't even know it could affect you like this."

He ran into the door a few times, not feeling the door budge an inch. He could eventually get it open but he needed time. And Coën needed him now.

"Angel, just let me in. Let me take care of you," he said to the door desperately.

"You have no clue what you're asking for! There are consequences to this," Coën sounded scared and nervous.

Those emotions helped calm Harlan. And having a door between the two of them helped as well. He slid down onto the floor, fixed his pants, and waited. He thought about the last two years and how abandoned and betrayed he felt when he received Coën‘s letter. He poured himself into his various business dealings and into supporting his daughter but a deep well of loneliness remained in his heart. He deserved to know why he had to go through all that. After an hour of these musings, he heard a low voice call his name, "Harlan?"

"Hmm?" He hummed, his eyes closed. 

"I'm sorry," Coën said.

"What for? For locking yourself in that room or for sending that very short letter," Harlan snorted in an ungentlemanly like fashion.

"Every year, Witchers go through a heat. It's kind of like mating season for Witchers."

"But Witchers are sterile?"

Coën chuckled bitterly. "It's a fucked up side effect of our Trials. During our heats, we lose control of our senses. Everything hurts from the sound of bee to a speck of dust touching my skin."

Harlan's throat tightened at the thought of Coën in so much pain. "Sounds terrible," he finally said.

"Geralt, another Witcher from another school, he managed to share his heat with someone. He avoided all the pain, but he ended up bonding with that person," Coën sounded sad.

"Sharing a heat?" Harlan had an inkling of where this was going, but he needed to confirm. 

"Sex with that person, lots of sex."

"So, I came at the right time," Harlan tried not to feel bitter that anyone could have been sitting in his place. 

"Yes, but I can't - I can't bond to just anyone, Harlan. Sharing a heat means that there's already trust and affection between us," he heard Coën shift closer to the door.

Harlan was silent for a while. When he finally spoke, he did so slowly and thoughtfully, "Vampires mate for life. Little known fact. I'm no different in that respect. There's a whole ritual and process with it, but it all comes down to a permanent bite mark on the neck. I've wanted to bite you a few times now."

He heard Coën shift some of the furniture around, so he could sit closer to the door. "Why didn't you?"

"Probably the same reason you sent me that letter. I was scared," he sighed and leaned his head against the wooden door.

"I have new brothers now, you know," Coën was only a few inches away from him, his fangs ached. 

"No, I don't know. You don't tell me much about yourself."

"I have four brothers, a sort of uncle, my best friend, and now a little sister," Coën said wonderingly. 

Harlan smiled, "That sounds amazing. Colette's always wanted a sister."

"How is she anyways?"

"Studying a lot. She doesn't have friends or lovers, just me. Hard for her to get close to people since that night."

"I don't blame her. My Griffin brothers would have killed you, and maybe me, for being together," Coën said it nonchalantly, but Harlan felt that they were nearing the heart of the main issue. "It's hard to get over that."

"Do you think your Wolf pack will act the same?"

Silence for a few seconds. "No, they’re nice. And Jaskier wouldn't let them do that."

"Who's Jaskier?" He sensed affection in Coën's tone when he said that name.

"My best friend, Geralt's Consort." Harlan's tension eased, and he rolled his shoulders. 

"Consort? Is that another name for a Witcher's mate?"

"Yes, you would be my Consort if we mated while I was in heat," Coën shifted closer to the door. 

"Sounds nice, I'm not going to lie," Harlan smiled. "What else happens in this heat?"

"Sex, nonstop for two days," Harlan's eyebrows shot up, "I won't be able to think or talk rationally. I'm not sure what exactly happens to you. I've never heard of a Witcher who-"

"-Wants it up the ass?" Harlan groaned at the vision of Coën's ass. He's been craving that for almost two years now. "I guess, it's safe to say that I'll lose my mind, too." He thought about his chaotic state of mind just an hour ago. Harlan stood up and dusted off his suit. 

"Where are you going?" He could feel Coën stand up as well. 

"How long do you have until the real thing comes?" Fuck, if that was just a taste of this heat, Harlan was going to experience the fuck of his entire lifetime soon. 

"Half a day, maybe. You coming here speeded up the process," Coën chuckled softly. 

"Angel, I'm going to prepare. We can't have a sex marathon without some supplies," and lots of lube, he mentally added. 

"So, you want to do this?" Harlan stopped when he heard the disbelief and uncertainty in Coën's voice. 

"Coën, I love you," he told the door. He didn't hear anything but continued, "I want to be with you, no matter what form it takes. You just have to decide if you want me back."

He walked away. 

-

Colette hummed as she worked on her diagram of the human anatomy. She dreamed of becoming a healer but before she could apprentice under someone, she had to study the craft throughly. She was shading in the human heart when her Papa stormed into the small cottage they rented in Lan Exeter. 

"Coën and I might be getting mated," he declared instead of a greeting. He began to pick up materials around the apartment and place them in a basket.

She dropped her quill. "I thought he broke up with you?" 

"He's going through some mating Witcher thing, we talked, and I'm pretty sure we're getting mated," he looked around frantically and grabbed a bottle of oil. Colette blushed.

“Is that like getting married?” 

"What else would a Witcher need during a two-day sex marathon?" He asked her absentmindedly, ignoring her question.

Red, Colette stammered, "M-more water? And bananas and apples to replenish blood if you-" she gestured to her neck.

"Good point, Healer Mayer," he grabbed the items and carried his loaded basket to the door. With a cheerful wave, he left.

Colette sighed. She needed someone else, other than her Witcher-obsessed half-vampire father, to be her friend. And she needed her own sex life.

Staring at her diagram, she took out a fresh sheet of paper and began to draw two men wearing matching outfits as she hummed a wedding march. Black and silver would look great on them, she decided.

-

Everything hurt. The smoke from the fire burned his nose, the dim glow of the room was too bright, the sheets felt like sandpaper against his skin, and the wind banging against the trees outside rattled his head. And Coën knew it was only going to get worse. 

He found himself back in the room he shared with Harlan during their spring meetings after taking a quick bath. He decided to live in the moment. He didn't want to worry about all the complications and problems but just wanted to revel in the simple joy that Harlan wanted him as much as he wanted the Dhampir. A joy that will start as soon as he got back from where he went. 

He felt a frisson of nerves in his belly, thinking that Harlan had changed his mind, but he winced when the door opened and closed. Footsteps on the stairs. Finally, that thick, earthy scent calmed his senses. He opened his eyes, not realizing he had them closed, to see Harlan's glowing green orbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to leave kudos and/or reviews! Thank you so much!
> 
> George of Kagen and Jerome are names of actual Witchers in the School of the Griffin. I just changed their personalities and stories.


	5. Heat, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to be back!
> 
> Thank you for reading this story! I appreciate you for giving this a chance. 
> 
> I also appreciate all the feedback readers have sent me. I couldn't have asked for a better group of readers for this series!

Coën sat up to welcome the figure standing in the room and before he could blink, Harlan was kissing him in a vicious duel of tongues. He peeled off the male's heavy jacket, desperate to feel that satin-soft skin against his overheated one. He got stuck on the buttons and with a growl, he took the shirt into his two fists and ripped it apart.

He heard a chuckle, then a moan when Coën encircled his pebbling, dark nipples with his tongue. He sucked them in, causing Harlan to grip him by the head, and released them with an audible pop. He switched to its brother and greeted him enthusiastically as well.

Harlan's hand grabbed his head and pulled him to face him. Stern green eyes stared into him, "I'm going to claim you after this, understand? There's no turning back."

Coën sensed that this important to his lover, so he used what was left of his mental facilities to respond, "You're mine, I'm yours."

Harlan's eyes softened, and he kissed him hungrily. His hands wandered over his body and fondled his ass with rough moments. Coën buried his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his intoxicating scent, and whined when those fingers left him only to quickly return, this time slick and oiled. Coën blearily turned his head to see that Harlan had a small bottle of oil in his hand. He pushed against the two fingers that penetrated him, they were too short, too small. He wanted more.

He looked down and spotted his prize, trapped in a pair of a expensive looking dark pants. He grabbed the top, preparing to rip another piece of clothing as punishment for hiding away what was his, when tanned fingers covered his.

"Let me take it off, angel. I need something to walk out of here with," another dark chuckle. Coën was having a hard time understanding the words from his lover's sensual lips, but he understood his tone. He removed his hands and watched him undo the buttons and push down his pants over thick, muscular thighs. Coën licked his lips and kneeled on the floor between the Dhampir's spread legs.

He fisted the rosy erection in his and breathed in the musky scent of arousal and sandalwood. He stuffed the erection in his mouth and tried to swallow it whole, but he ended up choking.

"Fuck, don't hurt yourself. Take it in slowly," that seductive, arousal roughened voice said.

Coën sucked the cock inside his wet mouth a little more slowly, trying to swallow each addicting drop of cum that beaded from the head. He didn't know if it was because his lover wasn't human, but his cum didn't have a salty or bitter undertone. It was pure refreshing, sweetness to Coën's throat. And he was so thirsty.

He sucked harder and faster, stroking the heavy balls at the base. There was a raging thirst in the back of throat that Coën thought could kill him if the cock in his mouth didn't cum soon. He wanted it to cum.

"Angel, this might be over too fast," his lover gasped out and hands tried to pry him away from his desire. He growled, low in his throat, and raked his nails down the sides of the man's thighs in warning. "Shit, that's hot! You're so desperate for it."

Sensing his release coming soon, Coën bobbed his head faster, feeling that thirst sparkle in his throat. The bigger male yelled his name when he came into his waiting mouth. Coën tried to swallow every single drop but some escaped the side of his mouth. He pulled away, wiped himself off with his thumb and licked the last vestiges of that delectable taste.

Yes, that cock would please him nicely. He fisted the still hard erection and kissed the tip.

"What are you doing to me, angel?" He pulled the Witcher onto the bed and kissed his swollen lips hungrily.

Coën moaned when the Dhampir pushed him onto his back and opened his thighs. He pushed into his ready body in one forceful thrust, making the Witcher cry out in shock and pleasure. Coën gripped the sheets in two fists as his lover brutally fucked into him, his hands tight on his legs. The Dhampir fucked him like an beast, fast and hard and with very little control, and Coën loved every second of it. He screamed as his lover managed to stroke that erogenous spot inside of him with his every thrust and his balls slapped against his ass in that maddeningly erotic rhythm.

"That's for making me wait two fucking years," the Dhampir panted heavily as he thrust his hips between Coën's legs.

The Witcher exploded on his own chest, untouched, with yells and whines. Through his release, his lover continued his brutal, punishing pace. The sensitivity, heightened by his recent orgasm, coupled with the harsh fucking created an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure for Coën, who alternated between screaming and sobbing.

Through blurry vision, he stared up at the near luminescent green eyes and tried to convey the sheer perfection of their union to his partner when words were failing him. The larger man took one tight grip off his thighs and entangled their hands together, and Coën knew that he understood.

His thrusts grew frantic and he moaned as his release neared. Coën bit his lips when he felt his partner cumming deep inside him. The male fell on top of the Witcher and breathed against his neck. Coën gasped at the brief, soothing relief the much cooler skin granted his burning body. But it wasn't enough, he needed more. He started to undulate his hips on the man's cock, which was still hard and digging into him.

"Fuck, fuck," the Dhampir muttered and began to move his hips once more, working his long, curved member deeper into Coën. The pace was slower, the punishment was over, and the male gave him long, lingering kisses. The slickness of his cum in his used passage created a smoother friction and the wet squelching sounds filled the air around them as the coupling continued.

Coën canted his hips upwards, trying to get more of his cock inside of him. He wanted it so deep that he could choke on it. He wanted to be filled everywhere by this male. He wrapped his legs around his waist and tried to push him deeper.

"I know what you need, insatiable angel," there was amusement in the masculine voice, and lips traveled to his neck. Coën's breath caught in his throat.

"Is this what you want?" He nipped at the taut, brown skin, and Coën scratched at the smooth back.

A cool hand wrapped around his cock, and Coën came with a strangled moan. He felt his lover release another load in his ass, but what he didn't feel was a pair of fangs buried deep in his throat, even though he left his head turned to the side. Lips returned to kiss and nip at his neck but they didn't bite. Coën didn't understand, and he needed it.

"Fuck, we're a mess," his chosen lover kissed the side of his neck, cheek, and ear as he safeguarded his cock inside of him.

The Witcher tightened his muscles around the erect member. The Dhampir gritted his teeth. "This isn't normal, you know," he indicated to the still hard erection he jabbed again into Coën.

Coën wasn't full enough, he needed more, he needed everything from this creature. He opened his mouth wide and bit into the Dhampir's neck. The male's eyes rolled in the back of his head, and his hips stuttered into his before he put more force and purpose behind the renewed thrusts. Coën didn't break skin, his teeth were too blunt for that, but once he released the other, the Dhampir twisted his neck to pierce him with his fangs.

It didn't hurt as much as the first time, but it still ached when he sank into his neck. Coën's mouth made a soundless o as the creature gulped down mouthfuls of his blood. He could feel it leaving his body and that thick cock splitting his ass apart as the Dhampir moved his hips with even harder intensity.

As fulfilled as he felt, there was still something missing and Coën didn't know what it was. He tightened his legs around his partner's waist, urging him with his moans to go deeper and harder, and felt an answering growl in his neck. The Dhampir sunk his teeth deeper and that's what Coën had been waiting for.

He made his own animalistic noise and struggled to surge upwards towards those sharp teeth, but a hand of steel pressed his face to the side. He wanted it, he wanted to be claimed, wanted to belong to this gorgeous, amazing creature.

The Dhampir sunk deeper, and it was starting to hurt. He slowed down his thrusts and a strong hand running down his flank was Coën's only warning before a searing pain entered his neck. It felt like the Dhampir had reached bone with his teeth, that's how deep inside of Coën he was. The Witcher screamed as he was broken and remade, and it felt as perfect as it was painful.

He lost consciousness at some point and woke up to the Dhampir licking his neck, sealing his wound closed. His neck felt so sore, it might take a few hours for him to be able to move it comfortably.

"Impatient little angel," a light kiss on his slack lips, "I was going to save that for last, heard the vampire bond is hell on the receiver, but you didn't want to wait." More kisses on his face, the unmarked parts of his neck, and on his chest. A sly tongue flickered over his nipples, causing Coën to whimper. "We need to clean up, angel. But before we do, let me have a little taste." That slick tongue slithered around the wet mess around his hard cock and tasted it with a little moan. "Just as sweet as your blood. Oh," a fake dramatic gasp, "you're still hard! And it's all mine, you say?" He purred and shifted down until he was eye level with Coën's erection.

He slurped it into his mouth with a moan. Despite the pain in his neck, Coën propped himself up on his elbows to watch that regal head bob over his erection. He saw his member stretch out his mate's mouth and the blissful expression on his face. Hungry green eyes met his and kept his stare. Bewitched by his gaze, Coën's orgasm took him by the surprise.

"Harlan," Coën whispered.

He left the bed long enough to grab a wet towel, and he began to clean up Coën and himself. There was a lull in his heat, Coën sensed. Some of the fire had been doused when Harlan claimed him with his vampire's mating bite.

"Angel," his Dhampir put away the towel and approached the bed with a full cup of what smelled like water and a handful of fruit. He kissed the Witcher on his mouth. "How are you feeling?"

"Like the luckiest man alive," he smiled.

During the heat, Witchers could put aside physical urges like eating, but Coën loved getting pampered too much. Harlan held up each piece of fruit to his mouth and even added some delicious kisses as a reward. When the food was over, they made out softly like a couple of teenagers, their naked bodies intertwined. But soon, Coën felt the familiar heat in his body that wasn't innocent at all.

Harlan sensed his discomfort and shifted, so that Coën could feel the familiar pressure at his stretched entrance. This time around, Coën had his wits about him as he continued with his heat, and the difference was incredible. Every time Harlan sank into him, he could feel the connection between them strengthen. It felt like Harlan was soothing a tender wound with his cock, and the thought made Coën giggle.

"Something you want to share," his mate muttered against his skin.

"Just thinking of the mystical powers of your manhood," Coën smirked.

Harlan raised a dark eyebrow, "If you're thinking so much, then maybe we need to do something different."

Coën lost his smile when the Dhampir pulled of him, leaving him feeling cold and raw. "Please, please," he begged, hooking his leg around the male's leg. They weren't done yet, Coën still needed more.

"Get on your hands and knees, gorgeous," the green-eyed Dhampir nudged a panicking Coën until the Witcher complied. He heard Harlan groan at the new sight and felt him squeeze the two generous globes presented to him. "I still can't believe you denied me this for two years."

Coën moaned as the heat and desperation was making it hard for him to speak.

"Remember our first time, angel?" Harlan rubbed the other's muscular back at his eager nod. "Hold yourself open just like that."

Coën groaned and reached around to hold himself open. Despite everything that he had done with Harlan, he still felt a flash of heat on his cheeks, which only grew hotter with his lover's fervent words. "What a gorgeous sight, your little hole wet with my cum. It looks a little tender, angel, maybe I should kiss it better?" Puffs of warm air on his most intimate area made him shiver, then that teasing tongue flickered over his opening. His tongue traced his clenching orifice, then drifted to his balls. The wet, light pressure made Coën moan and push his hips out. He felt the fire burn hotter inside of him, and he craved Harlan's dick with an intensity that made him feel like he'd been wanting for this for his entire life.

"Fuck me now," Coën growled.

Harlan stopped teasing and rejoined their bodies once more. With every stroke of pleasure, Coën sensed the invisible, secondary bond melding them. He instinctually knew that only someone with immense strength and devotion would be able to create something so beautiful and permanent with him. It filled him with awe, gratitude, and love.

Coën wanted to say the words, but they stayed in his throat. Words could barely describe what this male meant to him. The peak of his pleasure overtook him, erasing his chance for speaking.

"I know, my beautiful angel. I love you, too," Harlan said into his marked neck.

-

A week after his heat ended, Coën was eating breakfast with Harlan and Colette in their small cottage. The girl, or should he say young woman, was talking about her studies. Harlan nodded eagerly to her words, and Coën could feel his bursts of pride towards his ward. The Witcher squeezed the hand firmly in his and marveled at the gentle outpouring of love he felt in response.

Feeling Harlan become apart of his essence in this manner made Coën realize how alone he'd been for most of his life. No wonder Jaskier and Geralt made such a big fuss about breaking the bond if they had to part with such perfection and companionship. And thinking of the mated pair, Coën knew that it was time.

"Darling, is something wrong?" The Dhampir asked, sensing apprehension from his mate.

"No, well hopefully not. I want to ask you something," he glanced at Colette and took a deep breath at her happy nod. "Harlan, I never thought that someone as wonderful as you existed for someone like me, and I want my family, my Wolf pack to acknowledge you, just like they did to Jaskier. And I know now that they will accept you because you are half of my heart. So," he stared into Harlan's emerald eyes and slid onto his knees in front him, eliciting gasps from both father and daughter, "will you marry me through a secret, ancient Witcher ceremony?" He grinned cheekily.

Harlan laughed, nodding. He pulled Coën onto his feet and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Colette clapped and sighed.

"When do we leave?" Harlan asked when he pulled away.

Coën grinned, "Winter is coming, so as soon as possible. Climbing the Killer will be difficult enough for Colette without all that snow."

The woman in question lifted her head, "Me? I'm going?"

Harlan frowned, "It's your decision, sweetheart, but we really want you to come with us."

Seeing the disbelief in her eyes, Coën added, "I want you there, Colette. You're as much apart of my family as my brothers are." He felt a surge of love and gratitude from his mate.

"And I can't go through a secret marriage ceremony without you," his mate pulled the woman between them. "What do you say? Do you want the adventure of a lifetime with excellent company, or are you going to abandon your poor Papa?" The dark haired man gave an exaggerated pout that had Colette giggling.

"I doubt you're going to notice me with Coën around," she grinned good-naturedly at the Witcher.

"Impossible! Those are weak excuses, my dear!"

"If you're worried about being by yourself, I have a sister, so maybe you could be friends?" Coën offered. He wasn't sure how female alliances worked and hoped the process wasn't complicated.

The blonde finally nodded and threw up her arms, "Yes, let's go!" She lowered them a little, "Where are we going, Papa?"

"Kaer Morhen in Kaedwen," Coën answered when Harlan looked back to him for assistance.

"I've never been to Kaedwen!" Colette looked at her father with wide eyes.

"Hopefully, it's gotten better over the years. I remember a lot of wars and prejudice."

Coën shook his head thoughtfully, "No, it's the same."

Harlan sighed, "Not so different than here, I suppose." 

The next day, they left.

On that same day, a burly, almost beast-like form lumbered into the vacant cottage. The man lifted and threw aside cups and plates. He sniffed at what looked like a blue hair ribbon but discarded it quickly. He grabbed a belt hanging on a chair at the dining table and inhaled the scent. He growled, then licked a section of the leather in one long stroke. 

"Vampire," he growled.

He was close to finding his prey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to leave kudos and/or review.
> 
> Not sure if I'll add another chapter to this story or move onto the mpreg sequel of Witcher's Heat series. It depends on my inspiration.


	6. Reunion and Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is completely different than all the other chapters in this story. I'm setting things up for the mpreg sequel to Witcher's Heat, which will be up very soon. 
> 
> There are some male/female things in this chapter (nothing explicit!). I hope you enjoy it!

Lambert was having a crappy year, let alone day. Most of his hunts either turned out to be fake or were such low level creatures that any Witcher could dispatch them in their sleep. Most of the towns he visited asked if he knew Geralt, the White Wolf, and his Bard. After the fifth time, Lambert cursed out the innkeeper and camped outside with his horse. And his usual lady at his favorite brothel recently died from a lung infection. He didn't have feelings for her or anything, but she had been one of the most open-minded of whores, and she had been nice. 

Being at Kaer Morhen for the winter made things a little better. Seeing Ciri made him smile a little, being around Jaskier made him relaxed a bit, his brothers made him want to fight them all but also give them a tight hug, but he still felt off as if a dark cloud was constantly following him. He sighed. The story of his life. 

He woke up late today, missed breakfast, and it had been Geralt's turn. Lambert gritted his teeth at the missed chance to poke fun at Geralt's cooking. He discovered that his favorite shirt had a huge hole on the side that he hadn't noticed before, so he'd been walking around with a giant hole for a while now whenever he'd taken off his vest.

Feeling like he should have stayed in bed for the rest of the day, Lambert nonetheless got himself as ready as possible and hurried downstairs to see if he could find some food and check if Coën had arrived. Kaer Morhen didn't feel the same without that smug, know it all. Shit, if the Griffin did arrive, there was zero chances of finding breakfast after the two bottomless pits that were Eskel and Coën had their turns.

He rounded a corner and ran into someone smaller, softer, and noticeably feminine. The unexpected impact knocked him back a step, while the female fell on the floor. It took Lambert a second to find some type of manners, and he offered his hand to the woman. She put her small, dainty hand in his, and he gently squeezed it before lifting her up. He stared into a pretty, heart-shaped face with large blue eyes and dark golden hair. He furrowed his eyebrows. What the fuck was a woman like that doing at Kaer Morhen?

She dusted off what looked like an expensive looking blue dress. 

"Goodness, I didn't see where I was going! Sorry. Are you alright?" Her voice reminded him of Jaskier's lute- lyrical and soft.

"Someone like you can't hurt me," he smirked. 

"I can see," his smirk widened at the appreciative glance the woman gave him. He puffed out his chest for her benefit. 

Then, he knew who this woman was. On his first night back at Kaer Morhen, he told Eskel about Gladys, his deceased prostitute lady, and his brother promised to help him find another one. This must be Eskel's "help." But it was unusual for his brother to bring the prostitute here. Well, he knew Vesemir didn't spend his time around the keep completely without company, so maybe Eskel followed his example.

"I was looking for the, uh-" He was charmed to see her blush a little, adding some fake innocence to her allure.

"It's alright, lovely. You found me," he grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her towards him. 

She blinked slowly, "What?"

"You're so beautiful," he raised a hand to cup her soft cheek. "Wow, Eskel must have paid a small fortune for you. And you smell amazing," he touched his cheek to hers and breathed in her scent. She smelled like a bouquet of wild roses, untainted by even the faintest hint of fear and disgust that clung to most humans. He took in another lungful of her scent and felt dizzy with longing. Where did Eskel find this woman?

"Look, I think there's been a misunderstanding," she said breathlessly, and her small hands went to grab his biceps. When he felt her squeeze them, he made a mental note to do more strength training this winter.

"No misunderstanding. You're here, and I want you," to illustrate his point, he pressed his erection against her body. 

She jumped back but didn't release his arms, "Oh gods, what was that?" 

"Cute, the virgin card. I like it," he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his hard body again. She was slimmer than he preferred in his women, and there was a refined air around her that would have honestly intimidated him in another setting. Had he seen this woman at a tavern, he would have stared at her longingly all night but not approached her.

But right now, she was his, and he wanted to dirty up her prim and proper appearance and have her moaning in his arms. Firmly shutting up some of the doubts echoing around in his thoughts, he dipped his head and kissed her on the mouth. When she opened her mouth to gasp, he slipped his tongue into her mouth and explored his new territory. His hand slowly caressed her back, gently going up and down, and his other hand remained on the woman's cheek and jaw.

After a few seconds, she tried to reciprocate his kiss. Tried being the key word there. Her movements were clumsy and hesitant, almost as if she didn't know what to do. He checked her scent again and couldn't detect the telltale stink of fear or disgust. She was faintly aroused but also nervous about something. Perhaps, it was her first time with a Witcher?

He broke the kiss and frowned down at her reddening face, "Hey, you're going to have to do better than that for all the money Eskel is probably paying you."

Her lovely features settled into a frown, "You're an ass." 

"And you're a prostitute. This is your job," he tightened his grip around her waist when she tried to move away from him. "Don't get mad, I'm just saying, loosen up. Relax, have fun," he kissed the corner of her pursed lips. 

Blue eyes stared up at him in indignant fury. Lambert felt his cock ache uncomfortably. He needed to take this woman to his room soon. 

"You're one of the worst type of men I've ever had the displeasure of knowing," her actions belied her cold words because she grabbed his head and kissed him forcibly. She kissed him passionately and with confidence and when she broke away, Lambert pursued her mouth instinctually and whined when she gave him her cheek. She stepped back from his slack hold and slapped him hard across the face.

"What the fuck, woman?" He roared, raising a hand to his hot cheek. 

"I've never been so disrespected in my life! Do you go around calling every woman you meet a whore?" She raised her tiny fist again, and he shrank back from her. This woman was insane! "Well, do you?"

"Uh, no!" His answer only made her angrier, and she started hitting him on the arms and chest with her fists. 

"Then, why in the holy names of the gods did you think I was a whore!" She punctuated each word with a hit. 

Lambert steadily moved away, but the she-demon kept following and hitting him. "Then, who the fuck are you? Ouch, stop hitting me!" He could barely feel her blows, but it was the principle of the matter. Random women, who pretended to be prostitutes, couldn't just go around hitting him.

"You're lucky I don't want to mess anything up for Coën, or else I'd tell Papa about this!" She finally stopped her assault on his person and straightened her dress. 

Lambert realized that he might have a hidden kink because his cock was harder an ever, and it was becoming painful for him to move. His arousal and the wild look of his not-prostitute with her hair in disarray, eyes brightened, and cheeks flushed caused him to almost miss what she said. Coën?

Before she left in a self-righteous fury, Lambert grabbed her hand but quickly let go when she whirled around on him. "Who the fuck are you? How do you know Coën?"

She stopped and examined him. She must have found what she wanted because she gave him a wide smile. "You don't know," the she-demon giggled and walked back in the direction she came from. 

"Don't know what?" He yelled at her retreating back. 

Fuck, did he just accost Coën's Consort? She smelled great, but it was different than Jaskier. Not as comforting, and he didn't feel like he wanted to protect the woman with his life or something like that. And the thought of Coën with his she-demon felt wrong to him. Wrong and upsetting because he still had an hard-on for her, and she intrigued him. 

By the time he found the others, he had better control of his body. He found Jaskier, Geralt, Vesemir, and Eskel standing in the entrance hall. 

"Hey," he nodded to everyone. 

"Good, you're here. We have some news for you," Vesemir gestured him closer and laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder. 

"You're going to flip," Eskel said eagerly.

"In a nice way," Jaskier warned him subtly. 

"Lambert!" He turned around to see Coën and accepted a quick hug from the Witcher, dislodging Vesemir's grip. He looked at his friend closely and immediately saw that he looked happier and more relaxed than he'd ever seen him before. Lambert's shoulders slumped, so she-demon belonged to Coën. 

"I want to introduce you to a couple of people because... I'm mated, too!" Coën had always been more expressive than any Witcher he'd ever met, but now the man was practically vibrating with energy. 

Behind Coën, he spotted she-demon standing next to an equally excited Ciri. The girl spoke a mile minute to the woman, and he was glad that Ciri had a female companion. She smiled widely at the girl, but her smile fell when her bright eyes landed on him. He winced and focused his attention back on Coën, bracing himself for the news. 

"Harlan, this is my youngest brother, Lambert. Lambert, this is my mate, Harlan. Yes, he's a vampire, isn't he amazing?" He touched his mate's arm. 

Numbly, Lambert shook hands with the tall, dark haired man who walked into the entrance hall. A vampire? How the fuck did Coën bond with a creature like that? Much like with Jaskier, his scent was immediately disarming. It was rich and elegant and reminded him of candles and relaxing with a bottle of really nice wine. The vampire wrapped his arm around Coën's waist, and Lambert could feel the love and heat between them. Usually, the mushiness would make him gag, but he still had something to figure out. 

"If he's your mate, then who's she?" He pointed to the blonde woman who smiled at him sweetly. 

Harlan spoke, his voice reminded him of smooth liquor and had the same refined lit as the she-demon's. His stomach sank at the answer, "That's Colette, my daughter, and budding healer."

"Papa, you don't have to tell everyone that!" She smiled lovingly at her father.

Misunderstanding Lambert's crestfallen expression, Coën added, "She's human." 

Basically, he had accosted a woman who turned out to be Coën's stepdaughter and a Higher Vampire's daughter, called her a whore, and kissed her against her will. He stared at the muscles Harlan had and winced at the thought of those arms giving him well deserved punches. 

He suddenly noticed that everyone was giving him a look, as if waiting for him to say something. He could feel his face redden to reflect his hair color, "What?"

"Are you alright with everything?" Eskel asked. 

"Why wouldn't I be? He looks alright, and Coën's already done the deed, so," he shrugged. 

"You've really matured, Lambert," Jaskier said with a proud smile on his face. Geralt nodded at him.

He glanced at Colette and muttered, "I'm not sure about that."

After introductions, Lambert sneaked off to train and forget about the morning. Then, he had to remember what happened when he arrived to the kitchen for dinner. Geralt, or Jaskier because the Bard always helped Geralt when it was his turn to cook, wanted to impress their new guests, so they had roasted mutton and fresh bread for dinner with fruit. Eskel and Coën were well into their second helping by the time Lambert finished his first, and he was glad that Coën's guy, Harlan, didn't eat human food, or else there wouldn't be any leftovers. 

Dinner was louder than usual. Jaskier and Harlan acted like they've known each other all their lives, Geralt found out that both Harlan and Colette played Gwent, Eskel wanted to know for the umpteenth time how Coën met a Higher Vampire, Vesemir wondered if the new arrivals had combat training, and Ciri kept asking Colette questions about living in Kovir. After being alone for so long, it was a little jarring to be around so many loud, happy people. 

"Son, you're quieter than usual over here," Vesemir sat down besides him on the bench. 

"Just trying to get used to everything," Lambert shrugged.

"Yeah, you have been a little quiet today," Eskel slid down a few seats to sit in front of him. "You feeling alright?"

"I hope you are not really upset that Coën chose a vampire as his Consort," Vesemir warned. 

"How does that even happen anyways?" Lambert knew that almost everyone in the kitchen had supernatural hearing, except for the humans, but most were occupied and talking loudly. Jaskier produced his lute from somewhere and began to play a happy tune. Colette and Harlan looked impressed. Geralt smirked smugly.

"There are many things we don't know about these bonds, and many more things we're just discovering now that we have two Consorts," the old man couldn't keep the trepidation out of his voice, and Lambert nudged him with his elbow. 

"We'll be ok, Vesemir. We now have a vampire on our side. Aren't those things unkillable?"

"Do you think Coën's now unkillable because of the bond?" Eskel scratched his growing beard. "Think about it, the bond gives the humans a longer lifespan and healing. Maybe the reverse is true. Now that he's with a vampire, Coën can't die."

"Nice," Lambert nodded at Coën, who taken Jaskier's lute and was playing a different but still pleasant tune. Harlan and Colette stared at him with wide eyes. Colette laughed at something Jaskier said, and her laugh sounded very nice to his ears. 

"She's beautiful, isn't she boys?" Vesemir looked at Lambert knowingly.

Lambert sighed, "Yeah." He coughed, "I mean, whatever."

"Who? Colette? Sure," Eskel shrugged and reached over to grab the last piece of bread off the table.

"I was saving that!" Coën immediately said from the other side of the table. 

Eskel stuck his tongue out. His brothers have really matured over the past two years.

"As beautiful and intelligent as the young woman is, let me make this clear, I don't want to hear that either of you has laid a finger on her," Vesemir stared at Lambert and Eskel. Lambert sunk into his seat, while Eskel looked confused. "We don't need problems with Coën and his Consort. Coën wasn't raised here. He could decide that it's not worth the effort to trek out here anymore, and we wouldn't see them again. Stay away from that girl. Do I make myself clear?" 

Lambert nodded sullenly, Eskel looked between Lambert and Colette with realization dawning in his eyes.

"We're doing a father/daughter Gwent game, Jaskier's taking bets!" Geralt told the table. "Me and Ciri versus Harlan and Colette."

"Geralt, that's unfair. Didn't Harlan say that he was rusty?" Vesemir reminded the silver haired Witcher. 

"And you and Ciri are the best players here," Coën crossed his arms. Geralt smirked in response.

"Let's switch up partners! Colette and Geralt, Harlan and Ciri!" Jaskier told the group. 

The game sounded mildly interesting that way. Lambert placed his bet with Colette and Geralt and watched the two teams play. Harlan and Colette didn't have the same competitive intensity of Ciri and Geralt but both were decent players, so the game was actually pleasant and fun. 

"Both teams are tied!" Jaskier announced. 

"Let's break the tie tomorrow, I'm so tired," Colette yawned. 

"Pleasure playing with you, young lady," Harlan shook Ciri's hand.

"Bets are still on for tomorrow," Geralt warned the group. "Strategy brainstorm during breakfast?" Geralt asked Colette who looked like she trying to think of a polite way of saying no. 

"Or, we could simply eat and enjoy each other's company tomorrow," Jaskier looped his arm around Geralt's and led him away as Vesemir and Eskel left. "Bye Harlan! We'll keep talking about Operation Renovation tomorrow."

Harlan winked at the departing Bard, then turned to his own mate. "You're full of surprises, angel. I didn't know you could play the lute."

Coën smirked and kissed Harlan. When they didn't stop and Harlan's hands began to wander south of his brother's body, Lambert cleared his throat. He and Colette were still in the entrance hall with them. Coën and Harlan stepped away from each other with an embarrassed smile.

"I'm used to it," she shrugged.

"Colette, we still need to bring your luggage along with the horse," Harlan said. 

She stood up quickly, "It's ok. Why don't you and Coën go to bed?"

"Sweetheart, you need your things."

"Lambert, will be happy to help me, wouldn't you?" Three pairs of different colored eyes turned to him. Lambert smiled tightly. 

That's how he found himself dragging a sleek black horse up the treacherous path to the keep. He cursed blonde, blue-eyed women with every step and knew that he should have stayed in bed that day. Finally, he tied up the horse and got the bags tied to it, which were large and heavy. He dropped them onto the cold, stone steps of the entrance hall. Colette sat up from her seat on a hard chair and rubbed her eyes. 

"Are you alright? That took a long time," she yawned. 

He was briefly disarmed by the concern in her voice, so like an fully grown adult man, he muttered something. She smiled at him in amusement and stood up, stretching. Lambert admired the soft lines of her body before looking away quickly.

"Well, come along," she walked past him, nodding to the luggage at his feet. He watched her climb the stairs without looking back. 

He cursed, then bent down and carried the boxes and followed her. Sweaty and tried, he dropped them in the corner of the room she was staying in. 

"Need anything else, princess?" He panted and bowed mockingly. 

She put her finger on her chin in a exaggerated pensive expression, "Umm, not right now, but you could give me a tour of the keep tomorrow."

He blinked at her. He said about the only excuse that came to mind, "But it's my turn to cook tomorrow."

"Excellent!" she clapped her hands together. "I love breakfast. What a wonderful way to start the day."

"Huh?" Was he missing something here?

"I'll see you tomorrow! Thanks for bringing up my things." He left with a confused expression on his face. This wasn't going to be his winter. 

\--

When Coën and Harlan left with Colette four months later, it was a tearful event. Lambert watched the group from the second floor landing. Eskel was leaving, too, the following day to continue the Path. Geralt decided that he wanted to continue his Path as well, and Jaskier would accompany him. They would leave within the week. That meant leaving Ciri behind with Vesemir and Lambert, who was taking a year off to help train the girl and also work on some of the renovations Harlan and Jaskier had planned for Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier gathered Coën and Harlan in his arms, and it was a little comical to watch because both men were too big for the Bard to hold. Coën and Harlan didn't seem to mind because they hugged Jaskier back and made their awkward group hug work. A tearful Ciri was hugging Colette and Eskel. He saw Eskel say something, probably that he wasn't leaving until tomorrow, making the girl laugh through her tears. It was hard to hear from so far away with the wind.

Colette turned around, wiped her eyes, and scanned the area. Heat prickled his neck because he knew that she was looking for him. She found him seconds later, and they held each other's gazes. Then, she turned away and got on the horse with her father's help. He winced. He deserved that.

Jaskier said something to the blonde, making her smile. Geralt clapped Harlan on the back, then hugged him warmly. He turned to Coën and gripped his shoulder as he said some things to him. Probably, how much he wanted a foursome and hoped that next year it would finally happen. Lambert grinned at his perverted thoughts. All the fucking that happened in the keep this winter made him a horny bastard. His gaze followed the small group as they moved towards the Killer, waving at the group standing near the entrance. Sadly, he didn't get to add to all the sex. Maybe next year, it would be his turn. 

His gaze kept returning to the only woman in the departing group, and she refused to look in his direction again. Probably not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think! Kudos and/or review appreciated!
> 
> And we'll see Coën, Harlan, and Colette (plus the Bear Witcher) in Witcher's Surprise.

**Author's Note:**

> I love getting feedback via kudos and/or reviews as well as constructive criticism. 
> 
> So please review! Are you excited to read more?


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